


Whiskey, You're the Devil

by rsharpe



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsharpe/pseuds/rsharpe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris surprises Vin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey, You're the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short fic written as a thank-you to all the Pards (if I name names I'll leave someone out and be eternally banished or something) who've been checkin' on me while I've been imitating the traditional fanfic behavior of The Seven when injured or sick. Trust me, it ain't nearly as funny in Real Life . . . 
> 
> Hopefully, Tommy Makem and The Clancey Brothers (insert moment of reverent silence) wouldn't mind too awfully much if they knew I'd been listening yet again to their excellent versions of traditional Irish songs/chanteys. Accompanied by a shot of Bushmill's, of course. For medicinal purposes only, I assure you.

Vin Tanner had never been so excited . . . or so scared . . . in his life. He was beginning to wonder if he'd survived all the hardships and dangers of living on his own since he was just a scrawny kid only to die now from pure pleasure. The pleasure that was crashing over him in wave after wave courtesy of Chris Larabee. 

There was another possibility of course. If anyone saw what he and Chris were doing-or more accurately, what Chris was doing to him-he would certainly drop dead on the spot from embarrassment. And since their frenzied coupling was taking place in the sheltered space between the livery and the adjacent building, their discovery at any time was a distinct possibility. 

"Just makes it that much more fun." Chris had whispered into his ear as he pinned him against the rough, wet wooden boards of the old structure. 

\+ + + + + + 

Chris had been throwing meaningful looks his way all night as they sat together at the corner table in the saloon. It was a bit cool this October evening and there was a fine mist falling. Not heavy enough to actually be considered rain but the moisture gave the air a bit of a sharp edge. 

It was the kind of evening that made a man grateful to be inside near a stove with a small fire going. Even more grateful to have a little money to play some low-stakes poker and buy a couple of beers . . . maybe even a shot of whiskey right before he went to bed. And from the way that Chris's sensuous lips curved up a bit at the corners whenever he looked over at Vin to raise or call the hand they were playing, he'd be spending the night in Chris's warm room and warmer bed instead of his open wagon. 

The beer he had consumed throughout the evening and the shot of whiskey he had just thrown back warmed him enough to consider facing the elements for a quick trip to the livery before he turned in. The thought of what he wanted to do to the man he'd just managed to lose his last couple of dollars to was adding considerably to the warmth. 

Vin folded with one disgusted look at the cards Chris had dealt him on the last hand and rose slowly from the chair, realizing that he was bone tired from the long ride earlier. Chris raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question and Vin nodded in reply, touching the brim of his hat briefly. He settled his shoulders a bit deeper into his coat in anticipation of the chill outside and made his way through the smoky saloon, out the bat wing doors and down the boardwalk to the livery. 

\+ + + + + + 

About halfway through that afternoon's patrol, Vin had noticed that Peso seemed to be limping slightly. He wasn't consistent about it and didn't hesitate to quicken his pace when Vin urged him back onto the road after they'd gone to higher ground for a better look around. 

"'Course," Vin had reasoned to himself, "Ya never knew with Peso if it's really somethin' wrong or he just wants to be ornery." 

Vin had checked him when he got back into town and nothing seemed amiss but he'd feel better if he looked at Peso's leg one more time tonight. Peso nickered when Vin came into view and nudged his coat pocket expectantly in hope of a treat. He was satisfied when Vin drew out half a biscuit left over from dinner. Most horses were known to crave sweets but Peso had always liked bread, probably for the salt it contained. 

Peso munched Vin's offering and moved over to let Vin come further into the stall. Surprisingly, he even cooperated by lifting his leg on the first tap of Vin's hand as he leaned against him. After a quick look and the practiced running of his hand over the hoof and leg, Vin found nothing wrong. He'd watch Peso carefully if he took him out tomorrow. But for now, he was going to head over to Chris's room assuming that the gunslinger had comprehended their wordless communication of a few minutes ago and knew he'd be there shortly. 

\+ + + + + + 

Chris Larabee had definitely understood Vin's answer to his question but he hadn't gone ahead to his lodgings to wait for the quiet tracker to appear as he usually did. Their arrangement was that the younger man would wait a bit to let Chris get settled, then he'd knock lightly at his door before slipping in, sometimes ducking his head in sudden shyness as if he wasn't too sure why he was there. 

Chris had been drinking a bit more than Vin had and he'd favored whiskey instead of beer. Tonight instead of making him quietly surly or sadly reminiscent, the red eye had the effect of arousing him almost to the point of pain as he'd eyed the man half-heartedly playing cards with him most of the evening. And as Vin rose to leave the saloon, acknowledging that he'd join Chris later in his room, the mischievous devil that lay sleeping inside Chris awakened and he decided that he'd have some fun with his shy lover. 

\+ + + + + + 

Vin's heart hammered against his chest in real panic when he was grabbed by strong hands and pushed deep into the alley. Both wrists were pulled up and away from his gun and knife and he was pressed hard against the wall. 

His assailant's face was so close to his that he could feel the rapid exhalation from his exertion against his neck. The man had been drinking whiskey and Vin could even smell the aromatic smoke from a . . . 

Vin almost collapsed from relief when he realized that the man holding him immobile was Chris Larabee and not a bounty hunter or a thief or somebody that just wanted a fight. But even as he managed to draw a deep calming breath, he realized that Chris wasn't releasing him. If anything, he was pressing his advantage to push him even more securely against the rough wood. 

Vin tried to twist out of Chris's hold and the gunslinger responded by shifting his stance. He pushed one leg between Vin's and, turning slightly gripped both of his wrists above his head with one hand. 

Chris's other hand did not remain idle. He moved insistently to the front of Vin's pants and unbuckled his gun belt, stretching slightly to lay the belt across the top of a barrel where he had already placed his own. With those potentially dangerous obstacles removed, Chris began his assault in earnest. 

Vin still couldn't believe this was about to happen in the back of an alley not twenty feet from the side entrance to the livery stable. What if Tiny got up to check out a noise or maybe someone passed by and heard something? 

Vin turned his head slightly and whispered fiercely in warning. 

"Dammit, Chris, quit foolin' around! Somebody might see . . . " 

"Just makes it that much more fun." 

Chris had unbuttoned Vin's pants, lowering them and moved his coat to one side so that he could press against the tracker's taut buttocks. Chris was impossibly hard and when Vin felt his excitement his own cock filled and thickened in spite of the chill air against his skin and the fear of discovery. Vin strained to hear any noise from the street over the rustle of cloth being adjusted and their gasps of anticipation. Chris's ever-moving hand had now opened his own trousers as well and pulled them down so that their bare flesh met. 

Releasing Vin's hands so that he could brace against the onslaught, Chris moved his hips back against him so that Vin was leaning forward at a slight angle. He began to stroke Vin's cock quickly arousing both of them even further and bringing drops of moisture into his hand. 

Even with his slick fingers wet from their combined excitement, Chris opened Vin slowly. Careful not to rush matters, he worked gently until Vin gasped that he was ready. 

Still cautious, Chris pressed into Vin gradually to let his body adjust before he began to move in slow, steady strokes. Vin lowered one hand away from the wall and covered Chris's on his cock, showing him the pace he liked best. Chris leaned into the man beneath him, nuzzling against his neck, whispering breathy encouragement. 

Vin realized that he was getting close to his release and he quickened the strokes of Chris's hand under his own. Sensing Vin getting even harder, Chris pumped into him matching his pace. 

Vin came first, gasping in pleasure so intense he wasn't sure he could remain upright but Chris held his hips back against him and groaned in ecstasy at his own release. Chris managed to support both of them until Vin regained control and moved to get his legs back under him. Chris let his softened cock slip away from Vin and moved his hands up from supporting his hips to pull him back into a quick, hard embrace. 

Shaking, weak and still breathing unsteadily, shirts were pushed into pants and awkward hands finally managed buttons and buckles. Satisfied that they would pass a casual glance from anyone out on the streets at this hour, they walked slowly to the opening of the alley. 

"Larabee, we were lucky this time, but let's don't pull no more damm fool stunts like that for a spell." 

Chris took a deep breath and tilting his head stepped up onto the boardwalk and began to whistle softly. The tune was familiar, it was something that Vin had heard before, maybe in a mining camp a couple of years ago. 

Vin joined him with a puzzled look. He'd never heard Chris whistle before, except as a signal. What the hell had gotten into Larabee tonight? 

"You were talkin' about luck, Vin. Musta been the luck of the Irish." 

"Huh?" 

Vin stood still in surprise and amusement as Chris continued toward the boarding house and his room. He continued to whistle, but so quietly that he couldn't be heard more than a few feet away. And just as he crossed the street and the distinctive tune died in the still air, Vin remembered where he'd heard the song. 

It had been in a mining camp. Two men were working a claim, one was whistling and the other man, a boy really, was singing the words. Vin even remembered part of the first verse: 

Whiskey, you're the devil  
You're leadin' me astray  
Over hills and mountains  
And to an early grave   
You're sweeter, stronger, decenter  
You're spunkier than tea . . .  
Oh, Whiskey you're me darlin',  
Drunk or sober . . .

\- fini -


End file.
